


Patching Up

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, injury detail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 10:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10762704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: She doesn't like admitting she needs it, but she does.





	Patching Up

“I don’t need your help.”  


“I know, but you’re getting it.”  


Phasma wonders if she could just jab him in the side with her blaster until he gives in, but that’s ridiculously ungrateful. It’s not his fault she got hit, and he _is_ trying to help her. 

It’s just that she doesn’t like to acknowledge the fact that she fucked up, and is Human, after all. If she’d been faster, smarter… _better_ … 

She sits down, and nods. It’s a bit too much to ask to say ‘thank you’, but she somehow knows he won’t be offended. Her pride is more wounded than her body, and at least he won’t mock her.

His fingers - bare - pull at the black shirt, and she flinches as it doesn’t move. It’s fused _into_ the wound from the heat, cauterised into her flesh. That’s the worst part of it, and she knows it’s going to hurt like hell.

“I’ll give you a shot for the pain,” he says, grabbing a hypospray.   


She wants to say no need, but really, there is a need. It will be agony to be treated without it, and she might well jump and make matters worse. It will just numb her, not interfere with her mental capacities, so… he fires it into her belly just to the side, and she feels it flood out like an icecube pushed under her skin. Cold, then numb, and her head slowly unfogs, letting her think more clearly. 

“I could wait for a medic,” she mumbles.  


“You were about to do it yourself.”  


Yes, but… okay, fine. She nods, and leans back against the bulkhead, allowing him the access. Her fingers curl into the edge of the seat, keeping them from flapping or slapping at him.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Kylo asks her, as he starts to cut away the debris from her side.  


“I’m not good at small-talk.”  


“I said something I _don’t_ know,” he teases.  


The sensation of pressure - of pulling - is unsettling, but distant. She wants to look, but it’s probably best if she doesn’t. “I have broken three bones.”

“Only three?”  


“One would be too many,” she replies, with a slight smile. “I didn’t learn the lesson.”  


“Well, you’re still standing, so I think you’re doing alright.”  


Perhaps. She isn’t sure why that’s what came to mind, but maybe she’s just dwelling on all her mistakes. It’s… unpleasant, and difficult to resist. 

“I…” She clutches harder, smelling things she wishes she didn’t. “I… can’t think of anything.” What does it say about her, that she’s so… empty? She’s her job, and little else.   


“Tell me something ridiculous you want to do, some day,” he suggests. “Something that you’d do just for the hell of it.”  


Once, such frivolous thoughts would have been impossible to entertain, but now… now not so much. She has childish, schoolgirl daydreams from time to time. She thinks about things they could do, and it makes her cheeks go pink. “I think about wearing a dress.”

“A long one? Short?”  


“I don’t know. I suppose a long one. Looking… nice for you.”  


“I could take you to buy one,” he says, as he starts applying Bacta to her side. “Find something for you to wear, when it’s just us.”  


It’s… dumb, isn’t it? To want it, even just a little. To want to see how she’d be, dressed up nicely, painted, jewelled… she’s a soldier, but… she could be a woman, too? In private? If it doesn’t interfere with her work?

“You don’t think I would…”  


“What?”  


She looks down at him, then, her face creased in worry. “I’m not… I’m not like other women, Kylo.”

“No,” he says, finishing her bandaging up. “You’re them, plus _extra_.”  


Delight makes a noise bubble out of her, and she stares down at him, feeling… feeling giddy, light-headed, and… hopeful.

“I think I can even get you something in silver,” he says, as he rises, kissing her cheek.  


“You like it on me?”  


“I like _everything_ on you,” he insists. dropping the remnants of her shirt over her now-patched side.  


“When I’m healed,” she says, and she’s excited. It would be nice to have something just for herself… well. Other than _Kylo_ , of course.   


“Now you have a reason to take all your meds,” he says, pulling out a small bottle.  


“You sneaky bastard.” But she will. She would anyway.  



End file.
